


Game of Beauty

by telemachus



Series: Chasing Cars [8]
Category: Queer as Folk (UK)
Genre: M/M, that night, the night he came along, thoughts on a thursday night, underage only as in canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 05:12:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6142552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telemachus/pseuds/telemachus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That's what they call it, the beautiful game, football. But this game - this game isn't so very different, not really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Game of Beauty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GillNotJill (Wynja2007)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wynja2007/gifts).



> Inspired by a conversation with GillNotJill. Thank you, i think.

_….all of them, that’s all the football team……._

_All of them in shorts and naked, and sprawled out on the grass, and the referee’s saying yes, yes, yes, in we go……._

Makes no sense, I know, I can see it in his eyes.

His shining eyes. Shining like yours shone that day.

And I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks.

He’s fifteen, he’s desperate for it.

I’m doing him a favour.

Releasing him of the burden of his virginity.

Isn’t that what they call it? Somewhere? Shakespeare? Is it Shakespeare?

It usually is.

Didn’t get a fucking English degree without knowing tossing Shakespeare when I hear him.

Making myself go slow.

Fuck but he’s tight.

Stupid.

Don’t usually fuck virgins, gave up on that. Not all it’s cracked up to be. Why would it be?

You want a decent meal, you don’t let some twat who’s never boiled an egg cook – you go to a high class chef.

Same thing – you want a decent shag, you pick up some bloke who’s been around, knows the score.

Score.

Fuck.

_Yes, that’s it, and again, and come on, good boy, oh yes, and – and there we go – he shoots, he scores._

Fuck.

Fucking stupid twat. Thinking about that again.

_….all of them, that’s all the football team……._

That’s what he said. Afterwards.

Doesn’t matter.

Save the best to last, that’s all.

I wasn’t scared. I don’t remember being scared.

If I don’t remember, it didn’t happen.

Fuck.

Think about something else.

Think about this gorgeous teenager here, right here, asking for more, panting, looking at me with eyes like that.

Come on, then, work the magic. Show him a good time.

Live on in someone else’s memory, perfect, always perfect.

Perfect for one night.

_Come on, sweetheart, you want to make me come again don’t you, oh yes, you do, come on then, that’s right, that’s it, oh yes, here we go, here we go._

It doesn’t matter.

Never been picked last since then. 

Never.

Sex-on-legs, that’s me. 

Stuart Alan Jones.

Go fuck yourself, anyone who doesn’t think so.

Course I fucking wanted it. Why else would I have been standing there watching?

Could have walked away easy enough.

But I didn’t.

My choice, all of it.

Wouldn’t have wanted another go, not with him. Never fuck them twice, always walk away. 

My choice.

I wasn’t scared.

Why would I be scared?

Sex – fucking – is fantastic.

Look at all the places I’ve shagged.

Drawing a map of them now. So many places, so many men.

_….all of them, that’s all the football team……._

More than that, more than a football team. All the bloody stadium.

And every one of them better than the first.

_No-one else has a life like this, no-one else has nights like this. They all want to, but me – I do it. I’m living it._

 

 

 

And in the morning, in the morning, I’m sullen and pissed off, but he still looks at me like – like I’m a god.

But you, when you get out of the Jeep, and _oh well done_ , what a fucking mess that is, when you shake your head and sigh as you climb back in, as I forget his name, showing you he’s not important – you look at me as though you know me, as though you see me, me, not Stuart Alan Jones, sex-on-legs, me. Your best mate, the one who makes you laugh, the one who listens to hours of your shit, the one who lies around doing sod-all with you.

He gets out of the Jeep – and the catcalls, the names begin. Sorry mate, that’s the way it goes. Get used to it.

Show some balls.

He’s looking at me like I’m going to save him. Not happening, boy, no saviours in the big world. I did you the only favour I’m going to. Best night you’ll ever have.

You look at me, laughing, waiting for me to react. ‘Cos you know me, and you know what I’m like.

So just for you, I do.

_I’ll give you a fuck, you tight little virgin, you won’t be laughing then._

And you’re laughing next to me, loving it, seeing me the way I want to be seen, you make me king of the fucking world.

So I won’t – ever – let you go.

Won’t ever fuck you. Because then you might – you might stop believing in it all. You might somehow start to see through my lies, just like I see through yours.

And I might fall apart if you stop believing.

You don’t want sex anyway. Not just sex.

You’re my friend.

You see something else, something more.

You’re the only one who does.


End file.
